Rotted Roots of the Family Tree
by carryon-vs
Summary: Episode 1.15. When Sam and Dean take an Apocalyptic hunt, they get a whole lot more than they bargained for when their father shows up. Now, what they all find will teach them more than they wanted to know about family, trust, and following orders.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 15: Rotted Roots of the Family Tree

Authors: Faye Dartmouth and sendintheclowns

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Episode Summary: When Sam and Dean take a case from Bob regarding the latest development of the Apocalypse, they get a whole lot more than they bargained for when their father shows up. Now, Dean and Bob are sent on a quest through time to find John and Sam, and what they all find will teach them more than they wanted to know about family, trust, and following orders.

Excerpt:

_They both saw the figure at the same time._

_At the far end of the barn, was a man. Tall, darkly dressed, with his back to them. He was moving, his arms going up and down in fast, clean movements._

_At first, Dean thought maybe it was a civilian. The landowner maybe. A demon would have been all over them by now._

_Sam took a step closer, his gun lowering. He swallowed convulsively. "Dad?" His voice grated and threatened to break._

PART ONE

Saving people, hunting things: Sam had never been one hundred percent about all that, but sometimes, the way Dean talked about it, he sort of thought his brother had a point. It did seem like a very Winchester thing, a way to make their lost childhoods make sense, to use their family tragedy for the good. It was something they needed now more than ever, when everything else in the world was literally going to Hell.

Yet, that all sounded a whole lot better when it wasn't one in the morning and they were just _now_ finishing the hunt.

It hadn't been a complicated hunt in a technical sense. After all, if you've torched one angry spirit, you basically know the drill. Work fast, dodge faster, and keep the lighter handy.

Still, this one had been a mess from the beginning. Of course it had to be a former art teacher haunting her old classroom--just to make things fun. Instead of throwing simple things like silverware or tree branches, she opted for cans of paint and slabs of clay. That made it a bit safer in some ways, but a whole lot messier.

And then, as if to make things just a little more interesting, she'd remembered that painting with blood was a lot more fun than watercolors.

So after she'd trashed the place, she'd tried to kill them in earnest. Sam didn't like to admit just how close she'd come, either. Dean had come dangerously close to fitting into a hot kiln, and while his brother would like to joke that was because he was "just plain smokin'," Sam doubted it would really be the best option for either of them.

The problem had been the painting, of course. The one the angry art teacher had left behind, the one she'd been working on when the janitor had killed her all those years ago. Finding the right one had been tricky, and Sam had almost set fire to the sixth grade's entire charcoal originals just to get the deed done before Dean was returned to him extra crispy.

Even Sam, though, had to admit the kill was always a bit of an adrenaline rush. All that blood pumping, heart pounding--it was a heady sort of thing.

In contrast, the clean up was way more of a buzz kill than Sam _ever_ wanted to remember.

Worse yet, this was a public school. They couldn't leave it a total mess without causing too much trouble. Sam wouldn't leave that kind of evidence around; it was just too risky. Too many finger prints, too many questions, too many _everything_. But after scrubbing the floors on his hands and knees, he was starting to seriously reconsider the whole Winchester family motto.

By the time they finally reached the Impala, Sam was sore and tired, and just plain ready to be _done_. A night off was in order. Maybe two. Hell, maybe an entire _week_.

Crashing onto the passenger's seat, Sam leaned his head back, letting his eyes close. "I could so use a good night's sleep right now," he said. "You know, some place with _nice _beds and _really_ fluffy pillows."

Dean fell heavily in the driver's seat. "And maybe soft sheets," he suggested. "Those Egyptian Cotton ones."

Sam nodded, smiling at the thought. "And king sized beds," he said. He rolled his head toward his brother, opening his eyes. "Just for one night."

Dean shrugged half heartedly. "It is a nice thought, Sammy," he said. "But you know what a nicer thought is? _Not_ getting arrested. We need to put some serious miles between us and this scene. People have seen us all over town. Even if they can't come up with a print to match, they're going to suspect that we're responsible for the little mess back there."

Sam groaned, rolling his head back and scrunching his eyes shut. "Come on," he whined. "Just one night?"

"Do _you _want to be brought in for questioning for breaking and entering?" Dean challenged. "You know you suck at lying under pressure. You always fall for that good cop, bad cop crap."

Sam scowled; his brother clearly did not remember his stony silence in custody back in Boston. "I do not."

"I'm just saying, it's not going to be long before someone comes across that scene we left."

Sam looked Dean again, his frustration mounting. "We cleaned it," he complained. "Or did you forget the extra _two hours_ we just spent in there wiping things off and mopping the floor? I promise, that place has never been cleaner."

"So you're ignoring the fact that we broke the kiln and had to throw away over half the clay supply. Oh and ruined an impressive collection of molded animals."

Valid points, maybe. But sometimes Sam was tired of being responsible. "One night," he pleaded, almost _begged_.

Dean shook his head, a playfully malicious gleam in his eyes. Truth be told, usually their positions were reversed, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know that the sadistic big brother in Dean was enjoying this far too much. "And did you forget how bad you look in orange?" Dean asked. He shook his head with a small laugh. "Seriously, man, washed you right out. And do _not _even get me started on how unflattering a one piece is on you."

Sam brought his eyebrows together crossly. "Oh, and you really looked that great."

Dean's shrug was confident and undeterred. "Hey, it's not my fault I have a complexion that goes with everything," he said. "Good genes you know. Not your fault they skipped you somehow. I always did suspect you were some kind of mutant."

Sam rolled his eyes. His big brother had an answer for _everything_. Always had, and always would. That was just _Dean_. Perfectly cocky, unswervingly confident. The crappy part was? That Dean was right about it all far too often.

Really, if Sam were honest, that was part of what he loved about his brother. One of the only things that helped him keep going. When everything else was falling apart, his brother was still there, and, more importantly, he was still Dean. They'd almost lost that--they'd almost lost each other and themselves--and sometimes Sam worried they didn't have it back quite yet, or worse, that they never _would _get it back.

But after nights like this? In conversations like these? There was a solace that nothing could match. No matter how bad things got, they _still _had each other. They could count on that. Saving people, hunting things--the family business. It still meant something because they _made _it mean something. For the first time in a long time--too long--it really seemed to be clicking.

Especially considering the way the last few weeks had gone. Dean had assured him countless times that the hunters had been wrong, that Sam _wasn't _evil, but it was hard to shake. It was just another confirmation of what Sam had always doubted, what Alastair had shown him during his demonic mind trip. Sam just couldn't help but think maybe there _was_ something inside him, something dark. It was the reason Bob always looked at him funny, the reason the hunters came after him, the reason Azazel had picked him all those years ago.

Sometimes it was hard to believe Dean's version of it all: that Sam was a freaky little bitch and out of his mind weird, but as safe and sane as they came.

So hunts like this? Moments like these? Went a long way to help restore the tainted trust Sam had in himself. Sometimes Sam felt like his strongest connection to humanity was Dean and Dean alone, so as long as they were hunting together, Sam could believe he was on the good side after all.

That didn't change the fact that Sam was bone tired. Or the fact that as the little brother, sometimes it was just Sam's job to be petulant.

With a sigh, he rolled his head back toward the ceiling, closing his eyes. "Well, fine," he muttered. "But if you want to blow town, then you can drive."

Dean grunted from behind the wheel, keys jangling as he slid them into the ignition. "Gee, thanks, Sammy." His sarcasm was evident even in Sam's exhausted mind.

"You don't like me driving anyway," Sam groused.

"Because you _wrecked_ the car," Dean snapped back.

And if Sam had to play the petulant little brother, Dean had to be the domineering know all of a big brother. That was just the way it worked, and when it was working, it was _really _working. Sam's annoyance flared up despite himself and he sat up to glare. "You're still going to bring that up?" After everything that had been going on with Alastair and Dad and angels, Sam really would have thought they'd be past that fun memory by now.

"You're the one whining about not being able to drive," Dean pointed out, far too nonchalantly.

Sam's glower deepened, his bangs almost falling over his eyes. "I'm not whining."

Dean gave him a bland look. "Do we need to get a tape recorder? I think I've got one in the trunk."

Sam frowned. Okay, so maybe he was whining--a little. But it wasn't his fault. Being treated like a younger brother made him _act _like a younger brother. Four or twenty-four, Dean's needling always got him the same way. The beautiful Winchester dysfunctional functionality.

So it wasn't exactly what Dean had in mind when he talked about the family business, but at this point, to Sam, it was all about the same.

"Fine," Sam shot back, keeping with the rhythm. "So do you want me to drive?"

"I thought you wanted to sleep, princess."

Being belittled was one thing; the girl references were another. Sam would show no mercy. "So you don't trust me to drive."

It was Dean's turn to groan, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if in supplication. "Whatever," Dean said with exasperation that was almost genuine. "If you don't want to drive, that's _fine_."

Sam shrugged. "I never said that."

Dean plied him with an angry look. "Yes, you did."

Sam sensed victory, or at least something very close. "So give me the keys."

Dean sat back, his jaw set. "No."

Sam held his ground. He wasn't sure what they were arguing about, but he did know that he really wanted to win. "Yes."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his lips pursing together with a steady determination. "_No_."

"Maybe you should give me the keys," a third voice cut in. The tone was sudden, airy and out of nowhere, unnervingly easygoing for something that should _not_ be there.

Sam startled, hands grappling for his gun, which was still tucked hastily in his coat. He'd never been one for surprises, especially ones that showed up in the car when he was not at his peak. Things like that could get someone killed, and Sam had had enough of life of death situations recently--for himself, and especially for Dean. He would _not _lose his brother. Not after all this.

Sam fumbled with his gun just for a moment longer, before leveling it toward the back seat. Dean beat him to it, though. The knife off his belt was in his hand, poised with the blade outward and ready to strike at the new figure in the back seat.

It wasn't until then that Sam realized that his fears were misplaced. Sitting in the back, under the aim of Sam's gun and the path of Dean's blade, was none other than Bob Marvin, their personal angel extraordinaire.

Dean cursed.

Sam breathed heavily, trying to will his heart to slow down.

"Boys, I'm flattered," Bob said with his lips quirked into a smile. "Though a simple hello probably would have done the trick."

Sam put his gun down first, rubbing a hand over his face. As comforting as bantering with his brother had been, Bob's intrusion was just another reminder that it wasn't that easy. "You shouldn't do that," Sam said.

Almost reluctantly, Dean sheathed the knife, keeping a wary eye on their visitor. "Not unless you want to end up minced."

"You think it's possible that you two are spun just a _little_ too tightly?" Bob mused conversationally, crossing his legs and throwing one arm over the seat.

Dean laughed incredulously. "Can you blame us, dude?"

Bob seemed to consider that, nodding, completely nonplussed. "That's probably a good point."

"You think?" Dean said sarcastically.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, too tired to deal with the small talk now. Playing the game with his brother was one thing; sitting around and making chitchat with an angel was really another, no matter how many times he'd saved their lives.

Bob shrugged. "You told me to stop by."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

Dean was not so self restrained. "It's called a phone," he snapped. "You know, hand held device? Lots of buttons? They're super popular these days."

Sam would probably agree, but he did have to admit, the angel had never exactly been...conventional. Of course, all that made it particularly difficult to adequately gauge Bob. Sam did know this: he trusted Bob, more or less. In everything, Bob had helped them, even saved their lives. With the apocalypse coming, a little divine intervention surely seemed like a good thing. In so many ways, Bob was the best ally they could have in a world that was increasingly hard up on friends.

Except Bob wasn't exactly what Sam had envisioned when he thought of angels. He wasn't the Hallmark version with wings and a halo, but he also wasn't the fierce warrior Sam had sometimes fancied. He was...Bob Marvin. He'd picked an earthly name from two important singers from completely disparate musical genres. He wore REM t-shirts and fretted over his appearance. He seemed to want Sam's help, but never quite seemed to _like _him.

More than that, Bob knew more than he was letting on. For every piece of information he told them, he kept two more back. It was like being a kid on the need to know all over again. That hadn't work out so well the first time around for Sam. It was hard to trust that this time it was going to be much different.

Bob just rolled his eyes, unaware of Sam's doubts. He dropped his hand from the seat back with a flourish. "For some reason cellular companies just don't accept heavenly payment plans. Believe me, I tried. Until then, the pop and go style of communication is it for you two lucky guys. Of course, if you'd just let me use the old noggin, we wouldn't have to deal with this at all."

"I told you, stay out of my head unless it's an emergency," Dean told him shortly, his face pinched.

Bob gave them an innocent look. "When it's the Apocalypse, isn't it _always_ an emergency?"

Before his head exploded, Sam cut in. "So you're here about something important, and not just to torment us," he surmised.

Bob's expression darkened, the humor fading. "I am."

"Not that you would ever start off by telling us that," Dean muttered, shaking his head and looking out the windshield.

"You're the one still talking about nonsense, not me," Bob reminded him with a huff, crossing his arms in indignation.

"The _reason_, Bob," Sam interjected, with a purposeful glance at his brother. "Tell us why you're here."

Dean just shrugged.

With a lingering look of moderate annoyance, Bob continued, "I believe I have a case that you _really _should check out."

"You believe?" Dean's tone was skeptical.

"Believe, was ordered to get you on board," Bob said with a noncommittal frown. He uncrossed his arms, waving his fingers lightly in the air. "I've heard it both ways."

"What kind of case?" Sam persisted, choosing to ignore the concept of the angel hierarchy for the time being.

"What other kind of case is there?" Bob echoed. "As I keep telling you, we're in the middle of the Apocalypse here. I'm not sure why you two keep heading off on these smaller cases to begin with."

"How about because you won't tell us enough to do anything else?" Dean queried pointedly.

"Ah, point taken." Bob smiled grandly, wagging one finger in the air. "Which is why I'm telling you now."

The excessive roundabout made Sam remember why hunting with his brother was _that_ good. He and Dean didn't waste time; they didn't need to. They knew each other well enough to avoid it. "So, what, it's a seal?" Sam asked, his voice hard, trying to ignore the throbbing in his ears.

"Of course," Bob said readily. "There is a lot of talk out there about demons rallying to knock off another one. This time, it will unleash a great pestilence on the land." Bob finished with a dramatic wave of his hands, his words careful and enunciated, as if he were reciting it.

Dean smiled banally. "Wow, the excessive use of Biblical language really doesn't make me want to go after this at all."

Bob did not miss a beat. "It's hard to jazz up the apocalypse in modern language. Trust me, I've tried. It comes out like a cross between Stephen King and Harry Potter. Gory details with a fantastical magical backdrop."

"Have you even read Stephen King?" Dean challenged.

"Have you even read Harry Potter?" Bob returned.

"I've read both," Sam growled, the throbbing building to a full blown headache. "But unless either one of them will help us with this seal, I really would rather not waste time talking about them now."

Bob raised his eyebrows.

Dean gave an apologetic look. "He gets pissy after a long hunt."

"Clearly," Bob said.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing between his eyes ineffectually. "The hunt, Bob," he forced out through a clenched jaw. He opened his eyes and glared. "The _hunt_."

"Yes, yes," Bob said, as if remembering what he wanted to talk about. "We're picking up increasing amounts of demonic activity around a farm outside of Broken Bow, Nebraska."

"So maybe they're planning a party," Dean suggested.

Bob nodded. "It's quite a party. Heavy on the meat."

"Animal deaths?" Sam questioned.

"In excess," Bob confirmed. "All the livestock within a mile radius have turned up dead. The radius is growing."

"Demons often fry the local livestock," Dean said. "What makes you so sure this is a seal?"

"The sheer volume," Bob answered. "Demons enjoy death and destruction, but killing livestock is not necessarily their idea of a good time. It's usually necessary, though."

"Most rituals require animal blood," Sam said, his tired mind trying to keep up with the information.

"And the amount suggests that what they're planning is huge," Bob agreed.

Dean shook his head. "So I don't really understand these seals," he said. "Sometimes we can stop them, sometimes we can't. How are they even in place?"

Bob gave a vague shrug. "The seals were set up to protect the earth, but there's only so much we can do to keep them in place. When they start falling, they really start falling."

Dean's expression scrunched a bit, and he adjusted himself to look more easily at Bob. "Seems like kind of a crap ass security system," Dean critiqued.

Bob sighed, almost as if Dean's assertion were too far below him to bother with. "Any one could fall at any time," he explained airily. "But when they all fall in rapid succession, one right after the other, then it's sort of like setting up a chess board, moving all the pieces in place. Checkmate can be stopped at any time, but the more and more that slip by, the less likely it is."

"So you're trying to tip the board in your favor," Sam surmised.

Bob nodded. "More or less."

"Fantastic," Dean said, his lips pursed in frustration. "But why us? You still haven't told us how we fit in with all of this. Why not go stop this seal yourself?"

Bob looked uncomfortable, his eyes going to his hands. "You two are very important," Bob told them, glancing at them again.

"Right because I've got angel radio in my head and Sam's got demon fans all over the world," Dean commented wryly.

Sam flinched, swallowing hard. Demon fans was a bit of an understatement given Azazel's meddling in his life. From his six month birthday to Jessica's death to his unnatural resurrection. But that still didn't tell them _why_.

"Those are part of the reason," Bob agreed with a slow nod. He bit his lip for a second before continuing. "But you just have to trust me when I say it's a whole lot more than that."

"We're not so good with the blind trust thing these days," Dean said. His smile was forced. "We've had some kind of rough times with it."

Considering their dad, considering Alastair, considering _all_ of it--rough didn't really begin to describe it. Sam shook his head. "Can't you tell us why we're so important?" he asked.

Bob grinned, his hesitations melting away. "Because you are both so very awesome."

"Bob, come on," Dean said with a hint of exasperation. "We've been good. We've done your little hunts, we've done them your way. We deserve answers before we keep throwing ourselves out there for you."

"It is not my place to say," Bob replied evasively, situating himself primly on the seat. "You both have special destinies, ones that are closely intertwined. I can tell you that Heaven is very aware of everything you do."

Sam sighed. Dean groaned, turning himself back to face forehead. "That's not what we want to hear."

Bob's smile was wide and brilliant. "Remember, Dean, Sam. You can't always get what you want."

Dean's forehead wrinkled in disbelief, looking back over his shoulder at the angel. "You go from quoting scripture to throwing the Stone at me, man?" he accused.

Bob nodded quite seriously. "Very insightful, the Rolling Stones. No wonder they have transcended multiple decades and numerous ethereal planes."

Sam was simply not amused. It had been too long of a night. The hunt had been too close, the clean up had been too extensive. His head hurt and he wanted to sleep, and he was just _tired_ of the endless runaround. From Dad, from Alastair, from Bob. From _all_ of them. "So what can you tell us?" he asked in utter exasperation.

Bob was pensive for a minute. "Well, if you try sometimes..."

Dean groaned again, rubbing a weary hand over his face, keeping his gaze forward. "Yeah, yeah, you might just get what you need."

Sam was too frustrated to even bother speaking. He had expected God's mysterious ways, but this? Was crap.

Bob gave them a Cheshire Cat grin. "You got it." And then he was gone.

-o-

It took two days to get to Broken Bow.

Driving long distances, spending hours on end in the confines of the Impala's front seat--those things were kind of par for the course, but that really didn't make them any easier. Or particularly pleasant.

It probably didn't help that Sam had sulked the whole way.

The kid did have some reason, Dean supposed. It really didn't look comfortable to be a gigantic freak of nature squeezed into a car that was made for someone half his size. Apparently, _cool_ was not something that came in freakishly large back in the 60s.

As it was, the kid was sprawled out as best he could on the seat, head lolled back and mouth open. Sam's legs were practically squashed against his chest as Dean flicked on his blinker to turn toward town.

Sam snuffled in his sleep, trying to shift, but his legs hit the dash and he curled up again with a pathetic mewl.

Dean rolled his eyes. Even asleep, Sam would try to play the little brother card. It would be more effective had Sam taken more turns while driving, but between Sam's fits of complaining and his pouting sessions, the kid hadn't really gotten around to it.

With a playful slug, Dean jarred his brother. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

Sam came to with a snort, flailing a bit before groaning and letting his head flop back down. "You're a jerk," he murmured, closing his eyes again.

"And you're a bitch," Dean shot back pleasantly. "But we're pulling into town and I thought you might want to go over the details before we pull onto some farm and get ourselves killed."

Sam frowned, looking at the ceiling. "We would be better off getting a good night's sleep first."

"Oh, gee, really, Sam?" Dean asked pointedly. "Then you should be good to go since I drove ninety percent of the way."

Sam sat up. "Sixty percent, tops."

"Eighty, no question."

Sam harrumphed, but didn't disagree. He sat there for a moment, blinking in the sunlight. "So, you sure you're up to this?"

Dean stopped at a stoplight, looking around the streets. Typical small town America. Midwest, through and through. It was quiet, maybe a bit quaint. Pretty boring. Hardly the place where the next seal of the Apocalypse was going to break. "What's not to be up to?" Dean asked, shrugging. "It's a bunch of demons. We round them up, exorcise their sorry asses and move on with saving the world."

Sam did not look particularly convinced. "I just wish Bob had told us a little more information. I mean, how many demons are we talking about here? How soon are they planning on breaking the seal?"

"Well, there are a lot of things I wish Bob would do," Dean muttered. "But that's why we're hunters."

"Because we like to go on suicide missions?" Sam asked.

"Because we can _research_," Dean countered. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Or have you forgotten that you're my resident geekboy?"

Sam glared. "I'm just tired of feeling like I'm walking into things blind," he grumbled.

Dean held back a shudder. He wasn't so big on it himself. The last time they'd walked in with someone else's intel, they'd wound up in Alastair's clutches.

But what were they supposed to do? This was a freakin' angel of the Lord. They were trying to stop the Apocalypse. In a long list of failures in Dean's life, this was one he still had going for him. And his best bet of doing that, whether he liked it or not, was their resident metrosexual angel. Bob didn't always give out all the details, but the angel had always seemed on the up and up, even if he did have a strange taste in cultural phenomena. That meant as far as stopping the Apocalypse went, Bob had to be counted as a reliable source.

Spotting a motel, Dean put on his blinker, turning easily into the lot. He put the car in park and sighed, sitting in the seat for a moment. "Bob hasn't screwed us up yet," Dean said, then sighed. "I don't know. Seems like we could use the ally."

Sam nodded, chewing his lip for a moment. "Then I guess we better hurry this up, huh?"

Dean looked at his brother, and had to smile. Sam had his doubts, but the kid knew when to pull it together. "That's the spirit," he said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Besides, I think by now we've probably had our fill of surprises. What more could there possibly be to know about Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Sam laughed. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Dean opened the car door, stepping out. "As far as I'm concerned, we don't ever have to," he said with finality. He looked to the motel office, cracking his neck decisively. When he looked at Sam again, his face was all business. "Once I get a room, we'll get our stuff together and head out."

"Sounds good," Sam said unenthusiastically, but the kid was clearly trying.

Dean shut the door, tapping the roof once to rally himself, before heading inside. Besides, it wasn't so much a question of trusting Bob. It was the consequence of _not _trusting him that worried Dean. The risks were big--_huge_--and if they had any hope of coming out on the other side, they would need any help they could get.

And if it had to come with pedicured wings, then Dean would take it.

-o-

Bob had been right about the omens. With a little research, they'd uncovered a bazillion more. Lightning storms, crop failures, the whole nine yards.

Finding the farm hadn't been difficult. Looking at the incidents, there was only one farm smack in the middle, undoubtedly where their unfriendly contingent of demons was holed up.

Sam had wanted to do a little asking around first, but Dean was tired of the small talk. What they really needed was hard intel on how many demons they were looking at, and that wasn't something that the waitress down at the diner could help them with.

No, that required some field work. A nice stint of reconnaissance.

Sam had reluctantly agreed and had even found them the perfect spot to get started: a smaller property, about a half mile from the point of origin. Once they'd narrowed in the centralized location of where their demons were probably holed up, finding a place just shy of that had been their next tactical move. Sam's research had found that it was occupied, but had a nice selection of out buildings, including a barn with a view of the farm in question. All in all, it wasn't a bad plan.

Drive in, hide the car, fortify the barn and stake it out. They might have to come up with some clever lies to get the folks that lived there to vacate, but that stuff was the easy part. Prepping themselves for a showdown was going to be the trick. But, from the barn, they could get a better sense of the demons hanging around and what activities they were up to, which could help them better plan their attack. Demons in groups were damn tricky things, and Dean didn't intend on getting caught by them again anytime soon. He'd had enough torture for one lifetime. Hell, for two or three lifetimes.

So this plan worked for him. Nice and safe. Measured. Dean did fancy himself to be a maverick from time to time, but occasionally it paid to stay the damn course and spare himself the risk.

Sam fiddled with the map in the passenger's seat. Dean shook his head. "I don't think we're going to need that."

Sam squinted at it, using a flashlight to illuminate it in the dark. "I'd rather not end up in Kansas," he said.

"Well, I think if we just follow the signs, we're going to be just fine."

Sam looked up. "What signs...?" The question died on his lips. "Oh."

Oh. Out the windows, even in the fading daylight, the evidence of demonic activity was stronger than anything Dean had ever seen before. The plant life was dead--not just some of it, but _all _of it. The grass in the ditch was wilted, the flowers bent over in half. The crops were starved, browned and shriveled in the fields.

Even the _air_ seemed dead. Like a vacuum, sucked dry and supernaturally still. The faint tinge of sulfur was evident, even through the closed windows.

Sam swore. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" he asked.

Dean couldn't help but snort in disbelief. "It's the friggin' Apocalypse, Sam. What do you think?"

Sam wet his lips, pressing them shut.

It wasn't like there was anything to say, anyway. They'd seen some weird stuff, especially in the recent months, but seeing it like _this_, seeing what the world _could _be if the demons won...

Well, it gave Bob a hell of a lot more credibility.

If this was the demonic power _before_ the seal was broken, Dean didn't know what to know what they could pull off if they really did harness the power of Hell.

After everything that had happened to him, Dean liked to think he'd be ready for just about anything the Apocalypse threw at him, but the total stillness, the utter lack of life was a harsh lesson to the contrary.

Feeling numb, Dean pulled the car off early, leaving it hidden as best he could behind an outcropping of dead trees. Wordlessly, he and Sam unloaded.

Outside, the stillness was even more oppressive. The air itself seemed laden with it, and each breath was work to push out.

Together, he and Sam headed out. Their chosen barn was within visual distance. Dean had expected to be in stealth mode by this time, but now that he was there, he could see there wasn't any need.

Because there wasn't anyone around--_anywhere_. There wasn't even a sound--not a bird, not a cricket, _nothing_. Even the flies were dead on the ground as they approached.

They walked carefully, and Dean was too aware of the sound his boots made on the gravel. Sam kept to his back, shifting from side to side, as if trying to discern some threat.

But there wasn't a threat.

There was just _nothing_.

Dean was more than a little relieved when they reached their destination.

Meeting Sam's eyes, he nodded at his brother to take the other side of the door to scope the place out. The barn's position was even better than Dean had anticipated, and without trees in the way, they'd have a clear view, for whatever that was worth.

Sam gave a slight inclination of his head when he was in place, bringing his gun up, holding it ready.

Dean gritted his teeth, moving the latch slowly, carefully.

There was a small screech of metal that made Dean's heart skip a beat. He paused for a long moment, swallowing hard, before continuing to open the door.

It swung open easily. Dean slipped inside, Sam right behind him. Dean fanned right and Sam took left, sweeping their guns in smooth motions.

They both saw the figure at the same time.

At the far end of the barn, was a man. Tall, darkly dressed, with his back to them. He was moving, his arms going up and down in fast, clean movements.

At first, Dean thought maybe it was a civilian. The landowner maybe. A demon would have been all over them by now.

Sam took a step closer, his gun lowering. He swallowed convulsively. "Dad?" His voice grated and threatened to break.

As soon as Sam said it, Dean knew his brother was right. Slowly, John turned to them, his hands purposefully at his sides, leaving himself completely open. He was looking at them with large, black eyes and a sympathetic smile on his face.

Dean swore. As if they hadn't been through enough lately. This was _not _something he was ready to deal with. Stopping the Apocalypse was hard enough; doing it when his dad was at the helm was a damn near impossibility.

Next to him, Sam seemed frozen. Apparently, his kid brother wasn't handling this much better than he was.

And why the hell should they? Their father had come back from the dead with black eyes and a psychotically inconsistent personality. From teaming up with the Yellow Eyed Demon who started this, to trying to kill them, to finally playing the hero and saving their lives, Dean was having a hell of a time keeping up with his feelings regarding his old man these days. His dad was a demon, or a part demon anyway. Dean would be stupid to trust him, all things considered. It just wasn't their dad.

Except sometimes it was.

Because Dean wouldn't say it--couldn't say it--but he remembered his father's presence at the warehouse in Georgia. Remembered his father's gentle hands and reassuring eyes. Remembered his warm, familiar voice telling him that everything would be okay.

_Do you trust me, Dean?_

Dean hadn't been in a position to say _no_ then, and he wasn't in a position to say _yes _now.

To make it even more frustrating, their old man was _smiling_.

Another planned meeting no doubt. Dean had known his father well, and figuring out the planning and tactical maneuvering of the demon variation wasn't that much harder. John being here was no accident.

"Sam, Dean," John said, and there was something strange in his voice. "It's...good to see you."

Dean spared a moment to look at his brother. Sam still wasn't moving, a mix of wonder and terror on his face. Though Sam had agreed that there was still something good in their father that was worth fighting for, Dean knew his brother didn't remember his father's interference at the warehouse. He'd been too out of it at that point to be aware of anything.

Cautiously, Dean nodded, working to find his voice. "Hey, Dad," he managed finally, keeping his disposition tempered. He wasn't sure what version of his father they were dealing with yet: the maniacal murderer or the ennobled father. "Fancy meeting you here."

John glanced vaguely over his shoulder, and for the first time, Dean saw that there were markings there. A _lot _of them. Scrawled in blood and chalk, stretching intricately across the wood planks. "It's unfortunate what's happening here," he said. He looked back at them, his eyes clear and brown. "But unavoidable."

Dean's fingers twitched, keeping his gun trained on the older man. "So you _are_ here to break the seal?"

"No," John said. "I mean, maybe sometime, but the seal is not at risk. Not here. Not yet."

"So, wait, this is all a hoax?" Dean demanded. "You planned all the omens and signs just to make us think there was a seal?"

John looked positively proud. "I knew you'd come for a seal," he said. Then he paused, a wistful look passing fleetingly over his features. "I just wasn't sure you'd come for me."

Dean clenched his jaw. "So you decided to kill off all the plant life within two miles just to talk to us?"

"Why?" Sam asked suddenly, such a simple question that carried so much.

John looked at Sam, and it was a look Dean knew. One of regret. One of love. "Because I knew you'd come."

"Yeah?" Dean asked accusingly. He had to keep it together. No matter what John had done to save them, he was still part demon. He couldn't be trusted--not completely, not yet, and they _had _to remember that. "You been checking up on us?"

"I know you've been with an angel," John said simply. "They've recruited you to help."

"Well, it seems like everyone is getting recruited these days," Dean said with a shrug. "It's a cosmic game of kickball and Heaven picked us first."

John smiled. "Heaven simply _asked_ first," he said. "You haven't heard the rest of the story yet."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean shot back, squaring his shoulders in defiance. "And when are you going to fill us in about what's really going on? Why are you really here?"

John's smile faded, and he nodded. "It's a fair question. But I told you the truth. I came for you."

"Seems like no one remembers how to use a phone these days," Dean quipped, his voice tight, reigning himself in cautiously.

"We all have to be careful," John said evenly. His eyes went from Dean to Sam and back again. "You have many enemies."

"Yeah, and thanks for that," Dean growled, keeping his position tenuously. "Met up with an old buddy of yours. Alastair?"

Next to him, Sam flinched but didn't move.

John visibly paled. "You have to believe me when I tell you that I'm so sorry about that." He actually sounded sincere, eyes drooping at the corners in an approximation of Sam's puppy dog face. He held out one hand. "I had no idea..."

Dean's jaw clenched, the memories still stark and painful. "So it's okay for you to try to kill us but when another demon tries it, you think it's off limits?"

"You have to understand the big picture, Dean," he said. He wet his lips, keeping himself almost unnaturally steady. "Both you and Sam know that. You know better than to walk into things blindly."

"We're not blind," Sam interjected, his voice sounding strangled.

Dean's protective instincts flared. His brother was taking this badly, his entire body tense. The wounds from Alastair were still fresh--for both of them--but the entire ordeal had done a number on Sam's self confidence. It took everything Dean had to remind himself that no matter what Alastair said, Dean could still do something about that. He would always protect his brother, help Sam protect himself--even from their father.

John looked almost hurt by the answer. "You came here with nothing more than a tip from an angel," he said. "I expected better from you, Sam."

Sam blanched so badly that Dean felt it. Before Sam could attempt an answer, Dean interrupted. "I always thought blind faith was the status quo for the Winchesters."

John just looked disappointed. "You know better than that, Dean."

"Really?" Dean asked with an edge in his tone, inclining his head slightly forward. "Because right now, I'm not sure _what _I know."

"I can tell you what you don't know," John supplied. "You don't know what the angels are trying to do. They won't tell you what they really want from you, or what their plan is. They're asking you to be pawns in a fight you can't even _begin_ to understand."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, his voice trembling. There was something almost oddly hopeful in his brother's tone. Dean knew these were the questions Sam had, ones he'd been trying not to ask.

Dean wanted answers, too, but he wasn't sure that his father was the one who could give them. "Who are we supposed to trust then? You?"

John's eyes darkened to black for a moment. "You could do a whole lot worse."

Dean shook his head. "I know you saved our lives once, but I don't think so. Not yet. There's too many mixed signals."

John shrugged. "Maybe we should make it a bit clearer then?"

Sam cocked his head. "How?"

John's smile was genuine. "That's why I'm here. All you have to do is brace yourselves."

"What for?" Sam asked, sounding as confused as Dean felt.

John was moving, his back to them once again, his fingers flying over the wall almost faster than Dean could see.

Then, Dean realized what his father was standing in front of. Before, he'd thought it was a spell to break the seal, something to bring about the apocalypse, but he could see now that he'd been wrong about that. The symbols were different. The markings weren't demonic. They were something else, something--

But before Dean could figure it out, the world was moving, reeling, falling--and all Dean could do was hold onto his brother and hope for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

Dean's forward motion stopped so abruptly, he could've sworn his brain sloshed back and forth in his head from the whiplash effect. He was still gripping Sam's arm tightly and his feet were still planted on terra firma. Now if only his body would get the memo and the queasiness and dull headache would disappear. It was all fine and good for Sam to suffer such a pansy reaction but he was the older, cooler brother.

Not to mention that there was a bigger problem facing them—their dad.

A voice interrupted his efforts to control his nausea and the bright spots flaring in his vision. "Sorry, I'm afraid Dean won't be accompanying you on any trips."

Bob.

The quirky angel sure knew how to pick his moments. There was something wrong with what Bob had said and Dean shook his head to clear the cobwebs away; Dean wouldn't be going on any trips with John but what about Sam?

Sam's arm was abruptly pulled from Dean's grasp and he staggered at the loss of contact. Bob steadied his balance with an arm at his back. Dean shrugged it off, stepping toward his brother who was mere feet away from him, John looming behind him menacingly.

Something shimmered in the air between the two brothers and Dean poked his finger at it; his finger was easily repelled, unable to break the barrier. When John wrapped an arm around Sam's chest and whispered something in Sam's ear, Dean didn't care about the barrier. He heaved all of his weight at it and ended up on his ass, blinking up at Sam and John.

John smiled down benignly and, for a moment, he looked like Dean's dad. Not some hybrid demon or off his rocker psychopath. His dad. The person who had always represented safety to him. But when his dad opened his mouth, those thoughts were dispelled.

"I really wanted to take both boys on this little sentimental trip of mine, but I'll settle for Sam here. He always did feel like he'd been gypped out quality family time so here's my golden opportunity to make it up to him."

Dean climbed to his feet, brushing dirt from his jeans as he stared at his brother. He willed Sam to do something, _anything_, but Sam stood passively in the circle of John's arms, eyes dazed in his pale face.

Whirling on the angel, Dean demanded his help. "You have to shield Sam, too. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Bob frowned, biting his lip. It was a little disconcerting to see the angel, always quick with the comebacks, so silent. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Dean, I can't. The shield works on you because you've been blessed by the angels."

"That's a bunch of bull! You said Sam was blessed, too. Remember? He was supposed to be able to hear your demented conversations just like me. You have to save Sam, too."

Dean banged his elbow hard into the glimmering rainbow arching over him and Bob, isolating him from Sam, but the only thing it did was cause his funnybone to tingle uncomfortably.

The angel put a calming hand on Dean's shoulder and, for a moment, a sense of peace flooded his body. Sam was becoming restless, pushing at John's hold, beseeching eyes locked on Dean. Peace gave way to resolve—there was no way Dean was going to stand there and do nothing as John kidnapped Sam.

Bob's calm voice, a calm that pissed Dean off to no end, filled the air. "Sam's been tainted by the demon blood through no fault of his own. However, he's immune to some of my talents. I can, and will, keep you safe though."

The celestial being was a waste of space. If he couldn't help Sam…"You said Sam's soul could still be saved. So save him!"

Dean kicked and punched at the twinkling wall separating him from Sam. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and clung to his face but he kept on. His brother needed him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Bob shrug. "Hey, it's nothing personal. I like Sam, he's one of the good guys. But the rules say I can't interfere in this. That's just the way the game board has been set up."

Booming laughter from John drew Dean's attention back to the matter at hand. "That's right, _Bob_, you go ahead and explain the rules to Dean. Sam and I are going to pay a little visit to a place in time when your rules said you had to stand around with a thumb up your ass."

Both of John's arms were wrapped tight around Sam's chest, quelling his efforts to break free, but John still managed to press his chin on Sam's shoulder and smile at Dean. It could've been a Kodak moment, father wrestling with his son, smiling into the camera. But John's eyes twinkled with something other than good will and the smile didn't reach the eyes while Sam twisted ineffectually, face tight.

John's eyes closed and he spoke so low, Dean couldn't hear what he was saying. Sam had advanced to struggling with everything in his arsenal but since John was the one who had taught those moves to Dean who had taught them to Sam, there wasn't much his brother could do to break John's grip. Although Sam gave it everything he had. He stomped on Johns' instep, kicked his knee ruthlessly, elbowed his solar plexus but still John held on tight.

Panic took over Sam and it was hard for Dean to watch—Sam bucked and clawed at the arms holding him in place but John easily neutralized his efforts, applying the crook of his arm to Sam's windpipe.

Sam's face suffused with pink and his eyelids drooped. "Buckle up, Sammy, I think it's going to be a bumpy ride."

John reached back and touched the side of the barn and poof. Between blinks John and Sam were gone.

Dean, who had continued to batter at the shimmering shield, stumbled through the barrier and fell to his knees. His head hung low on his chest and he ground the palms of his hands into his eyes, stemming the moisture pooling in his eyes. Sam was gone. Dean had failed him. Again.

Feet padded in front of him. "It's not your fault you know. And I don't think John means Sam any harm." Voice tiny, hands twisting together, Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"You don't think? And you're right, it's not my fault. It's _your_ fault. So you're going to fix this. Beam me up, Scotty. Take me to Sam." He glared at the angel. His head was filled with insistent whispering, the angel network ratcheting up, but Dean beat it back with one single-minded thought: Find Sam.

Bob frowned at the demand. "I really don't think you understand. That's not a good idea. You humans are so fragile, not built for this kind of travel. I have to advise you against this."

"I didn't ask for your advice. And if Sam can travel like this, then so can I. Or are you trying to tell me Sam's demon blood," Dean's hand wildly threw up air quotes around _demon blood_, "will protect him?" Dean had had it with Bob's hemming and hawing. Maybe his angelic shield wouldn't have worked on Sam but the angel could've done something to intervene.

Straightening his Hawaiian shirt, Bob winced. "Sam is as human as you are Dean, and I told you, this isn't personal. I like Sam. I don't want anything to happen to him. He's very reasonable and centered. Except for maybe that one time he hit me—"

"Put a sock in it, Bob. We need to make tracks. Sam's out there with whatever-the-hell John is. Time's a wasting." The sense of powerlessness was lifting now that Dean could see Bob had cracked. They would find Sam and the sooner the better. His brother was out there with someone or something that had at the very least tried to kill Sam not that long ago and could be a demon.

Grumbling under his breath, Bob acquiesced. "I still think this is ill advised but at least I know where I think they went. You'll have to do what I say and—"

"Whatever. Let's get this show on the road." Dean tuned out Bob's babble and the voices in his head through sheer will power.

Bob's index finger touched him in the middle of his forehead and with an abrupt jerk, the feeling of nausea assaulted Dean again. He didn't try to fight it; it meant they were hot on Sam's trail.

-0-

Sam's stomach lurched and his ears were ringing so loudly, he couldn't hear anything else. Something wet clung to his upper lip and he swiped at it, mesmerized by the red smear across the back of his hand. His vision tunneled down to a pinpoint as dizziness threatened to dump him on the ground.

A warm hand wrapped around his biceps, another curled around his hip, and the simple touches grounded him and chased away the dizziness. Dean was here. His brother would be able to explain what was going on.

Sam straightened at the waist and turned to see Dean and his world flipped on its axis—it wasn't Dean holding him upright but his father. Demon. Whatever. Sam settled on thinking of him…it…as John for now and tried to pull away.

Spun around fast, Sam found himself face to face with John and the touch moved from his arm to two hands bracketing his face. Sam threw his own hands up and pushed off the broad shoulders but the pressure on his head from the vice-like grip slowed his struggles.

Material was pressed over his face and Sam's efforts to pull away from John became more frantic. His ineffectual struggles ceased when he realized John wasn't trying to suffocate him but was pinching the soft fleshy part of his nose.

His ears popped loudly and with it the silence around him dissipated and he could hear his dad… John…talking to him. "…quite a nosebleed you've got there. It's already soaked my handkerchief. Here, you pinch your nose." The hand that had been squeezing his nostrils closed was removed and his own hand was brought up to his face, "and tip your head down so you don't choke on the blood. That's it. Your old man still knows a thing or two and it sure would make things easier if you'd just listen to me instead of always putting up a fight."

Sam wanted to make a break for it, get away from John, but his legs were still rubbery. He settled for glancing around, startled to see they were standing in a field not far from a road where cars were steadily zipping by. He did a double take as a dark blue Gremlin, boxy long front and all, whizzed by. A two door gold Pinto followed by a brown Chevy Vega went by at a more sedate pace and Sam forced his open mouth to close. It was like he was watching a 70's car rally or something. He only recognized the models because Dean had talked him into doing his sixth grade speech on 1970's era cars.

John was saying something but the insistent buzzing was back in Sam's ears and he continued to stare at the road as John pulled his hand away from his face. With a few dabs the cotton material was removed and Sam's elbow was being tugged.

Sam let his feet shuffle along, too dizzy and tired to do much more than gape around him. They made it to the other side of the street and a few people jostled past and Sam noticed the women were wearing denim bell bottoms and they had waist length straight hair. Sam's feet locked in place as he bent at the waist, hands resting on his thighs.

The question wasn't just where they were, but when. Had they really been teleported to another place and time?

His dad was staring at him with concern, brow crinkled and lips pulled tight. John put up a finger indicating he'd be back in a minute, and leaned Sam against a streetlight. Sam thought about taking off but before he could put the thought into action, John was back, guiding him into the passenger seat of a car. Sam didn't even pay attention to the model of the car, closing his eyes instead, intent on gathering his energy.

When the car stopped moving, Sam opened his eyes. They had driven from what seemed to be the main street and were now in a little suburb, parked in the driveway of a small white house with blue shudders complete with white picket fence.

Sam's ears popped again and his disorientation lifted. "Where are we? And when?"

Stopping himself, Sam let his head bang against the headrest; why bother asking John anything? It seemed his dad had never really told him the truth while he'd been growing up and now that he was whatever-he-was, Sam didn't expect to get the truth.

"We're not exactly when I thought we'd be, but I want you to meet someone. You're going to appear to be her cousin so she'll trust you." John's thigh was jiggling up and down which struck Sam as very odd. It was almost as though John was nervous.

Sam still didn't know who he was meeting or what 'when' John was talking about but before he could gather his thoughts, John was opening his door and helping him out. He was impatient with the way his body was behaving but until his mind cleared more, there really wasn't much he could do.

John knocked on the door and from somewhere inside, Sam heard a clear feminine voice sing out, "Just a minute!"

As the door swung open John turned to him and spoke very softly. "Sam, I want you to meet someone very special. Mary Winchester. Your mother."

A young woman greeted them, layered blond hair curled away from her bright face in a style reminiscent of Farah Fawcett. Her eyes were searching and then positively lit up. "Uncle George, what a nice surprise. I didn't know you were coming to Lawrence. Come in, come in. And this must be my cousin, Jeff. Gosh, I haven't seen you in forever."

Sam's head was spinning but he let himself be drawn into the small entryway, startling when he glimpsed himself and John in the mirror. John's hair was a light brown and he definitely resembled Mary. His own hair was blond but other than that, he was a shorter, slighter carbon copy of the man John appeared to be.

Before he could fully grasp the implications, he was standing in a tiny living room, a beige couch, loveseat and coffee table all that would fit in it. Mary had yet to invite them to take a seat.

Mary.

Was this really his mother? He studied her closely and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought he could see Dean's eyes and nose in her face and when she smiled, it was like he was looking at a female Dean.

Mary frowned at him and Sam realized he was making her uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable like he was being rude but more like he was a stalker and she wasn't going to let her guard down around him. "I want to get one thing straight. I'm out of the life, Uncle George. If you want to discuss a hunt or anything like that, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. That part of my life is over. But if you want to talk about the family, then I'll get us some lemonade and you can have a seat."

Sam waited for John to say something and when he didn't, he turned his head to see what the older man was doing. John had a slightly dazed, maybe even besotted, look on his face. Then it hit Sam: John was staring not only at Sam's mother, but at his young wife.

"Uncle George? Is everything okay?" Mary's voice, soft and sweet and everything Sam had always hoped for, prompted John.

A sheepish look graced John's face. "Oh, yes, sorry. We won't talk about hunting. Jeff didn't feel well for the last leg of the ride so I guess you could say it's been a long trip. We'd love to sit down and just visit for a while."

Mary gestured toward the couch. "Please, sit down. Oh, Jeff, you have a nosebleed. I'll be right back with a cloth and some ice for it."

Sam raised the back of his hand to his nose and felt the moisture. John guided him across the room and turned him around, pushing lightly, letting the back of Sam's knees hit the couch and take him down. "Isn't she something? She was quite a hunter in her day you know."

Mary _was_ something and the awe in John's voice gave Sam pause. Where was the psycho who had lured them to a warehouse and tried to kill him? And why was Mary talking about hunting and John agreeing, telling him she was a hunter? She couldn't possibly know anything about hunting—

Soft competent hands molded the cloth filled with ice to his nose and held it there with just the right amount of pressure. Mary didn't flutter helplessly; she kept the cloth on Sam's face. He let his eyes droop closed, content to smell the light floral perfume and just be next to his mom. Never in a million years would he have guessed his mom knew anything about this crazy lifestyle.

Gentle fingers combed the bangs from his face. "You don't look so hot, Jeff. Maybe you ought to lie down for a while."

Sam sunk deeper into the couch cushions and let Mary—his mom—tend to him. It was a dream come true. He'd always wanted to know what his mother was like. He only wished Dean was here with him.

A knock on the door startled him. "Uncle George, make sure he keeps the pressure up. I'll see who's at the door now."

His eyes remained closed as Sam was content to concentrate on his mother's voice. He hadn't expected the hostility when she exclaimed, "Oh, it's you. You're not welcome here."

Sam's eyes snapped open and relief pumped through him as Bob pushed into the living room, Dean hot on his heels.

-0-

Dean hadn't weathered the angel-powered transport as well as he would've hoped. His head was reeling and his stomach churning, but he didn't care. They needed to find Sam fast. His instincts were in overdrive, telling him to get his brother and get out.

Bob had other ideas. "Just catch your breath there, Dean. I don't want you stroking out on me. You're a ghastly shade of white. I told you humans were too fragile for this."

He found himself sitting on a cement step, his head between his legs. Dean hadn't even realized he was dizzy. Bob was probably right, he wasn't cut out for this kind of travel, but what did that mean for Sam? His brother might be a big guy and looked tough but Dean knew he wasn't up to par yet, and hadn't been since Jake had stabbed him.

They just couldn't catch a break lately. Especially with the whole apocalypse thing hanging over their heads.

Dean lifted his head and Bob peered anxiously at him. The angel made a humming noise and then reached out, placing his hand on top of Dean's head. Warmth flooded Dean's body. When Bob withdrew his hand, Dean realized he felt good—great even. No more aches and pains, even his hands and feet which he'd slammed repeatedly into the barrier, were as good as new.

Bob motioned him to stand up. "We're in Kansas. 1973. Mary and John live here. She won't be happy to see me, I'm afraid."

The angel stiffened his spine and resolutely knocked on the front door. Dean's mouth had fallen open; his mother lived here? With his dad? They'd traveled back in time?

A pretty blond woman answered the door and Dean just knew this was his mom. His mouth snapped shut and he took a step forward, intent on hugging the stuffing out of her. She looked just like Dean remembered her with the pretty blond hair and big, green eyes. Only she wasn't smiling at him. She looked pissed, her lips pressed tightly together. "Oh, it's you. You're not welcome here."

Bob, who had moments ago looked docile, barged through the front door, charging past Mary. Dean, fearing the door would be slammed in his face as his mother scowled, darted after Bob.

They ended up in a small living room, made even smaller by the fact that there were already two men in it—John and Sam. John was already on his feet, smiling that shit-eating-grin of his. Sam bolted to his feet when he saw Dean, a dishtowel clasped to his face dropping to the floor unheeded.

Mary, the sweet, gentle mother from his memories, was staring down Bob, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You need to leave. Now."

Bob put his hand out in supplication. "You never did understand, Mary. I was only allowed to observe, that was my mission. It broke my heart to stand there and watch what that monster did to your parents."

Dean looked on in awe as his mother grabbed Bob's hand and twisted it ruthlessly behind his back, pinning it between his shoulder blades. She marched him to the entrance hallway and whipped the door open, planting her clog in the small of Bob's back and propelled him outside.

Blinking his eyes in bemusement, Dean could only shake his head. So much for sweet and gentle. His mother was feisty and could kick ass!

Turning his head, Dean met Sam's eyes. His brother looked equally dazzled by the events. He also looked sick. John had an arm around Sam's waist and Dean didn't know if that was to hold Sam back from Dean or hold him upright. "Sammy, you okay?"

Before Sam had a chance to answer, Mary was back, eyes spitting fire. "Are you waiting for me to escort you out of the house as well? I don't trust Bob and I don't trust any of his little angel friends either. Get. Out. Of. My. House."

Dean hesitated a beat too long and found his arm cranked behind his back and then he was dispatched from the house in much the same way Bob had been. Instead of a hug, he got a kick in the ass. And Sam was still inside, with John.

Bob looked like he was going to start bawling any moment now and Dean didn't have the patience. He wanted answers, and he wanted Sam. "What were you two talking about, Bob? Huh? You couldn't interfere and they died…? You've got some 'splainin to do, and fast."

"It was my mission. I was forbidden from interfering. The orders were from way up on the chain of command. Believe me, I wanted to stop Azazel." Bob's hands were tightly fisted, his face red. "But the consequences of my actions…my wings would've been good and clipped."

"You wanted to stop Azazel from doing what? Quit talking in circles. I need to know what's going on and then we need to get Sam and get the hell out of here." Dean would've preferred getting Sam first but storming the house and dragging his brother out didn't seem like such a good idea at the moment. Not with his mother, the fire breathing Valkyrie, guarding it. John and Sam had to come out of the house at some point, and then they'd get Sam back.

The angel walked around the car in the driveway and knelt down in front of something. Dean's curiosity got the best of him and he followed Bob, leaning over his shoulder. Bob was staring into a puddle, his hand waving in a circle over it.

Dean pulled his gaze from Bob and concentrated on the puddle. Shapes took form and Dean watched as two people swam into view; a short, thin woman with blond hair and a taller, balding man with intense eyes.

The angel broke the quiet. "These are Mary's parents, Samuel and Deana. They don't realize that the man they've let into their house isn't a man, but a demon. Azazel. Watch."

A short, nondescript man was sitting at a table. The woman pulled a gun from under the table and pointed it at him. He raised his hand, smirk pulling his thin lips back, and the gun melted in her hand. The blond woman flew across the room, striking the wall head first. She collapsed on the floor, neck broken.

The tall, imposing man—his grandfather if Bob was to be believed—was already in motion. He flew over the table, tackling the demon. They went down in a tangle of legs and arms. Surprisingly, the older man got the upper hand, pinning the demon to the ground. Samuel—the man his brother had been named after apparently—straddled the demon while his lips began to move.

The demon's mouth opened and black smoke trickled out.

His grandpa was a hunter, too? And he was exorcising the demon. Dean almost pumped his fist in the air but he knew there was no happy ending here. If there had been, his grandparents and mother would still be alive and Sam never would've been infected with the demon blood.

The demon writhed on the floor and Dean caught himself wanting to shout a warning as it raised its hand. Something, a light fixture, came crashing down and smashed into the floor. There were markings on the floor—a devil's trap—and the light had broken its lines, releasing the demon from Samuel's hold.

The rest wasn't pretty; in fact it was downright predictable. In the end, his grandpa was launched across the room falling in a heap after bouncing off the wall, body turned one way, his face twisted the other.

His grandparents had both fallen to Azazel.

The action didn't stop there. A young Mary entered the frame and ran toward her parents. Once she realized they were both dead, she launched a kamikaze attack, swinging an iron rod, but it was too late. The demon put his hand out and Mary struggled to move, her feet rooted to the floor.

The demon threw his head back and laughed before turning toward the door. He said something to someone else—Bob, slinking against the wall—before he slammed the door in his wake.

The picture distorted until Dean was staring at the sediment at the bottom of the puddle.

Bob had been there. Bob had done nothing. An overwhelming urge to throttle the angel overcame Dean but as his hands latched on to Bob's neck, the front door of the house opened. John and Sam exited, their goodbyes to Mary muted as the virtual steam gushed from Dean's ears in anger.

Abandoning Bob, his sole focus was on his brother now. Sam was moving under his own power but he was wobbling. The same shock and confusion Dean felt inside was right there on Sam's face.

John gave a mock salute to Bob before smiling at Dean. His attention switched to Sam and the toothy smile eased up a bit. "Come on, son, it's time to ramble on to our next destination. A little lesson in warfare is called for, I believe."

Maybe it was Dean's imagination but John seemed almost subdued. Concerned even.

He couldn't trust that concern—not when it came to Sam.

Dean's legs unlocked and he started for Sam. The wind kicked up, leaves and debris flying through the air. It swirled about, dancing close to the men standing before him, and before Dean could reach Sam he was encompassed by a whirlwind.

Sam sagged against John and with one last panicked look, his brother disappeared.

"I think I know where they're going. We'll find Sam again, don't worry." Bob's voice was insistent.

Dean wasn't sure he could believe anything Bob told him but he didn't have a choice. He had no idea where his brother was or how to find him.

He was ready for the touch this time and when the now familiar sensation of spinning encompassed him, Dean relaxed into it.

There was nothing else he could do at the moment. His fate, and ultimately Sam's, were in Bob's hands.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Sam was on his knees, dry heaving in the foliage on the side of the dirt packed road. His stomach felt as though it had been turned inside out and he didn't want to look too closely at the contents spewed before him; he thought he'd caught glimpses of his stomach lining and that was enough to make his stomach revolt all the harder. Another shudder wracked his body and Sam gasped, bile dripping in a long string from his lips.

"On your feet, Marine."

Ugh. Marine John was calling the shots. As if Sam hadn't endured that enough for one lifetime.

Strong hands pulled him to his feet and a canteen was thrust into his hands. "Jones and Anderson, you head south down the road for five klicks and meet Rhodes and Black at the rendezvous point. I'll be along with Winchester soon."

After sipping the warm, metallic tasting water, Sam tried to get his bearings. Dense foliage surrounded them, all except a worn dirt path that wouldn't even accommodate a compact car even if that had one. With the foliage came the requisite insects and Sam swatted the side of his neck. A constant buzz set up around his head and Sam didn't know if it was from the insects or the dizziness that had become his constant companion.

Humidity made the hair at the back of Sam's neck clump uncomfortably and sweat trickled down the sides of his face. He started to take his headgear off, but John's quiet voice stilled his actions. "Leave your combat helmet on, son. The quickest way to separate your head from your shoulders is to take it off and I didn't bring you all this way to see that happen."

Sam got his first look at John since they'd landed in this jungle. Kitted out in green fatigues, combat helmet, and rounds of ammo crisscrossing his shoulders, John was a force to be reckoned with. Sam at least knew where they were. They had to be in Vietnam where John had served. His war stories had always fascinated Dean but Sam had never embraced them. Sam wasn't naïve, he knew sometimes wars were necessary, but the thought of his dad fighting in Vietnam had always made his chest tighten with anxiety. Although as a kid, everything had made Sam anxious.

Sam didn't want anything to do with John or this place. The heat was oppressive, making thinking difficult, and he wanted two things—to find Dean and go home. But curiosity had always gotten the better of him and he couldn't help but ask, "Why did you bring me here?"

John made a short chopping motion neck high, indicating that Sam should cut the chatter. Turning around, John made sure the two soldiers who had been their companions were long gone. He turned back, eyes serious. Almost apologetic. "I know this is confusing for you, but I need you to bear with me. Just trust me for a while longer."

Confusing. Sam would have snorted if he wasn't so short of breath. Confused didn't even begin to cover it. He'd met his mother and now he was traipsing through the jungle in the 60s. Or maybe it was some elaborate hoax. He didn't know. What he did know that he wanted to curl up on the Impala's passenger seat and listen to his brother's tapes while he tried to figure things out.

As for trust, that had flown out the window when John had set the warehouse on fire with Dean inside. He might be the little brother but that didn't mean he could abide by Dean being threatened. It hadn't helped that before the fire, John had picked Sam up by the neck and nearly choked the life out of him. So much had happened since that fateful trip to Montana it was hard sometimes to keep track but he knew trust wasn't something he could easily give to John despite his claims that he'd done what he could to save his sons from Alistair. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to scrub the hurtful memories from his mind.

Fingers brushed Sam's hand and his eyes flew open. John was massaging some sort of lotion into the exposed skin on the back of his hand. "For the bugs."

Standing so close, Sam could see the laugh lines around John's eyes. The threads of gray in his dark beard. The deep brown of his eyes. He was so busy staring at John he forgot to pull away as the astringent smelling lotion was blended into both hands and wrists, but when one of John's hands cupped the back of Sam's neck and the other one touched the front, Sam jerked back. He was far too vulnerable as it was, he didn't need John putting his hands around his neck.

John frowned before slapping the tube into Sam's hand. "Don't forget the back of your neck and face. I don't want Dean bitching that I returned you in poor condition."

Maybe it was a ruse to get him to drop his guard but at those words, Sam's outlook brightened. That's what he wanted, to get away from John and get back to Dean. But if that was really the case, why wasn't he making a break for it? Why was he staring at his dad so intently?

Settling his legs in a wider stance, shoulders bunching and unbunching, John mimicked Sam's earlier actions, rubbing the middle of his forehead. Sam's eyes widened at the sight. He felt some sort of connection to John and he wondered if the heat was getting to him.

Sighing a little, John took the tube back from Sam, a gentle smile on his face. "I just want my sons to see the big picture. There are things the angels don't want you to know. About me. About their plans. I just want to level the playing field. Come on, we're sitting ducks out here."

Sam was completely disoriented and he allowed John to take his arm and tug him into a walk. John began talking about Mary and it was all Sam could do not to scream; if he didn't know any better, he'd think this was his father, John Winchester, reminiscing about his lost wife. But John wasn't a husband or a father. He was a demon now. Right?

The sun barely reached the ground, the trees screening it from view, but the heat was stifling. It was hard to breathe and walk at the same time and soon Sam was tuning John out, fully focused on putting one foot in front of the other while drawing oxygen. His temples throbbed with each step and Sam wanted to curl up in a ball and take a nap. The only problem was he didn't know if he'd wake up. Or how he'd get home. He was stuck with John until Dean found him.

Sam's faith in Dean was unwavering. He never doubted his brother would find him. Dean was as tenacious as a bulldog and Sam knew his brother wouldn't rest until he caught up with Sam.

He'd lost track of the time, and of the distance, as they plodded along. Popping noises penetrated his malaise and Sam's fight or flight response kicked into gear. The only problem was he didn't know where the gunfire was coming from. The popping noises were replaced by the continuous rat-a-tat-tat of automatic guns, and whistles filled the air as shells were seemingly launched at their position. Sam's head pounded so loudly he didn't know which was up.

Something burst from the side of the road in front of them and Sam's heart jumped painfully in his chest. Something slick coated his upper lip again but Sam didn't have time to worry about a mere nosebleed when he found himself airborne; John had hit him with a flying tackle, both of them crashing hard to the packed earth.

Crushed beneath the weight of John, Sam still felt as though he was free falling. His head wouldn't stop spinning. John ran his hands over Sam's body, checking for fractures, and Sam wanted to push those hands away but he didn't even have the energy to lift his head.

The world tipped and Sam found himself standing, leaning into John's strength. Jones and Anderson, Sam didn't know which one was which, stood in front of them, eyes wild with panic, rifles at the ready. John's voice growled, "Stand down, men. You almost blew off Winchester's head."

Shapes melted out of the forest behind Jones and Anderson and before Sam could shout any kind of warning or do anything, guns were blazing again. Sam quickly found himself buried under John again, the back of his head cracking painfully as it met the ground.

Screams cleaved the air. Sam wanted to cover his ears, just for a moment, but he was trapped. Suffocating.

The smell of cordite filled Sam's nostrils making it impossible to breathe. His lungs, unable to expand against the weight covering his chest, gasped for oxygen.

Then there was silence. The insanity finally at an end.

The constricting weight rolled off Sam and once he could catch his breath, he levered up on his elbows. Two men were down, bodies riddled with bullets. Even from his vantage point, Sam could see the blood seeping onto the dirt, overtaking and coating everything in its path.

Jones and Anderson dropped to their knees, rifles slack in their hands. John walked to the downed soldiers, staring down pensively at them. "Rhodes and Black."

Sam recognized the names as the two men they were supposed to meet up with. Jones, or maybe Anderson, cried out and muffled sobs broke from the other one.

"On your feet, men!" John's gruff voice boomed through the humid air.

The two soldiers climbed unsteadily to their feet, heads hanging low. John threw a hand on each man's shoulder and Sam noticed the way the men flinched. John's next words belied his stern countenance. "Friendly fire, men. There's nothing you can do about it now. I want you to mark these coordinates and head back to HQ. That's your mission."

Both heads lifted simultaneously and Sam could read the tension in the way their backs pulled into taut lines. John clapped each man on the back, his face grave. "Sometimes mistakes are made in the heat of the battle. Rhodes and Black didn't follow protocol. You did. That's why you're alive. Don't you forget it."

The dizziness was back full bore. Sam must have closed his eyes because the next thing he knew, John was leaning over him, shaking him. The shaking only added to the out of control spinning sensation.

Water trickled into Sam's mouth and revived him. When something moist patted the back of Sam's neck, he sighed with contentment. He opened his eyes to find John frowning heavily at him. The frown bothered him. The John he'd seen in action was a brave man. "You must've been one helluva Marine. You knew exactly what to do, what to say."

John had also saved Sam's life although since Sam wouldn't have been here to begin with if it weren't for John, he kept that sentiment to himself.

Surprise widened John's eyes, his mouth forming a small 'o.' He handed a bandana to Sam, motioning him to put pressure on his nose again, before moving out of Sam's range of vision. John bolstered Sam from behind until he was sitting up. Hiding from Sam.

John cleared his throat, his words almost hesitant. "Sometimes good people do bad things, especially when they don't have all of the information at their disposal needed to make the right decision."

It didn't take a genius to figure out John was talking about the soldiers. Although John had brought him here, to this place, for a reason. Because he wanted to show Sam something, make a point about the angels.

The life lesson was interrupted as a sonic boom split the heavens, Bob and Dean appearing in a flash of light.

-0-

Dean would never get used to the sensation of traveling with Bob. The pressure in his head was so intense, he thought the top of his skull was going to pop off. When Bob touched his forehead, the motion sickness, for lack of a better description, instantly abated.

It was almost enough to make Dean grateful Bob was on their side. Of course, Bob standing around while his grandparents got slaughtered, not to mention doing nothing as John kidnapped Sam, turned the mellow feeling into something more hostile.

The spots in his vision cleared and Dean immediately sought out and found Sam. His brother was sitting on the ground, limbs relaxed, leaning against their dad. The demon. John.

John had an arm protectively slung over Sam's shoulder and Sam didn't look threatened by it. If it weren't for the lack of color in Sam's face or the way he blinked up at Dean, as if his eyes wouldn't focus properly, Dean would've thought the two men were having a family picnic or something.

Sam's bangs were plastered to his head and he looked so damn young, so damn vulnerable, sitting on the ground. It was time to end this farce. But first things first; he had to hear Sam's voice and then he'd know if his brother had been harmed. When Sam just blinked up at him, Dean spoke first. "Sammy, you ready to get out of here?"

Shaking his head, John climbed to his feet. "I'm afraid there's one more visit we have to make. The good, old bridge. You remember the bridge, right Bob? After that Sam can return to you if he wants."

_If he wants? _ "Let him go. Sam belongs with me."

A sad smile twisted John's lips. "Sam's always belonged with you. Together you're stronger. Don't worry, you'll get Sam back when I'm done with him. That was always in the plans."

John reached down and smoothly picked Sam up, one arm behind Sam's back and the other beneath Sam's knees. Dean didn't hesitate, he stormed forward. John had no business holding Sam. Never mind that Sam was over two hundred pounds and John hadn't even broken a sweat lifting him. More proof that John wasn't their dad any more.

Dean's fingertips brushed Sam's hair but that's as close as he got. The wind howled, tropical heat buffeting his body, and John and Sam disappeared. Again.

A bird squawked in the distance, breaking the silence.

Dean stared at the space Sam had inhabited seconds ago, head reeling.

"I don't think Sam can take any more of this travel. I'll get us to the bridge. You just need to hold on to Sam, forget everything else, and I'll get you home." The words were pretty cryptic, even for Bob, but Dean didn't have time to think about it before he was hurtling through time and space.

He came to on the ground, Bob hovering over him. "One more jump and then we're done. Your body simply can't withstand the stress."

Bob nailed that on the head. Dean's whole body ached and even the angel's touch didn't completely sooth him. He clambered to his feet when he heard a shout.

The youthful Mary was kneeling in front of a bridge, the equally young John cradled in her arms. John's chest wasn't moving and Mary sobbed quietly. Bob stood to the side of the tableau, wringing his hands.

The same man—body—that had taken out Mary's parents stepped into view. His eyes flashed their trademark yellow.

Azazel.

"Oh, sweet Mary. I think it's time you and I come to an understanding."

Mary ignored the demon, clutching her lifeless husband in her arms.

This was way freakier than watching Azazel kill his grandparents. This was his mother and father. _His dead father._

Movement at the corner of his eye made Dean turn from the events playing out before him. John, the John of the future, stood watching his dead self, Sam tucked tightly into his side. Sam was upright but that's all that could be said about him, his head bobbing on his neck, eyes blinking slowly in the dim light.

Mary's young voice pulled Dean's attention back. "You can take your understanding and shove it where the sun don't shine."

Spunk. His mother was one spunky chick. Tears were thick in her voice but she still managed to stand up to the demon.

The demon spread his arms, his hands empty. "Now Mary, is that any way to speak to me? After all, I have the power to bring your beloved John back."

Fingers that had been combing through dark waves stilled. Mary's chin lifted. "What did you say?"

_No!_ Dean wanted to scream at his mother, tell her what was going to happen, but without John, there would be no Dean and Sam.

Dean would gladly give his life if it meant putting a stop to Azazel's warped plans, but he wouldn't risk Sam's.

Eyes glowed that eerie yellow again. "I can bring John back, and in return, there's just one little thing you have to do."

Mary eased John's head to the ground and slowly climbed to her feet. Her spine was so straight, Dean expected it to shatter any moment now. Her hands flexed at her sides and Dean was sure she was going to fly at Azazel but Mary only stared at the demon. Eyes full of hope.

"I need your permission."

His mom's beautiful face scrunched in confusion. "Permission for what?"

Pearly white teeth glistened in the moonlight. "In ten years I'm gonna swing by your house for a little something, that's all. You say yes and I'll bring lover boy back."

"You'll stop for what?" Mary's arms were crossed but it was apparent in the way she blinked back tears she wanted to give the demon whatever it wanted to get back John.

Azazel wagged his finger at Mary. "This is strictly need to know and you don't need to know. I will tell you that as long as I'm not interrupted, nobody gets hurt. I promise."

Mary bit her lip. Hard. Drawing blood. Her eyes darted to John, chest still unmoving, stretched out on the grass.

"Or maybe you'd rather spend the rest of your life solo. Desperate. Alone. Come on, Mary, Mary, quite contrary. You want that garden to grow, right? Whaddya say?"

One more longing look at John and Mary nodded her head. The demon stuck his hand out. "Put it there, partner. We gotta seal the deal."

Mary reluctantly put her hand in Azazel's and the demon yanked her hard, tugging her into his arms. He planted a kiss on her lips with a resounding smack. This was hard for Dean to watch on so many levels.

His mother slugged the demon in the jaw and he released her, his tongue swiping over his lips. Dean remembered Mary's lips had been bleeding and bile bolted up his throat at the sight of the demon licking at the blood.

Azazel snapped his fingers and John, young John on the ground, stirred on the wet grass.

The other John, the one from the future, made a rumbling noise in his throat. Sam's legs give out completely and John didn't waste any time in lifting the younger man into his arms. "I'm taking Sam back now, he can't take any more."

The voice was low and bleak and Dean knew Sam wasn't the only one who couldn't take any more.

This time they went quietly. No howling wind. One moment they were there and the next they were gone.

Dean flinched at the touch on his shoulder. Bob. He'd almost forgotten the angel was there. Both in the present and in the past. Whirling around, his anger exploded. "Why didn't you tell us about our dad dying, about the deal our mom made? You knew what went down. Hell, you had a front row seat, and yet you did nothing, said nothing."

The angel's mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged.

Dean was bitter. As usual they were operating in the dark. Bob had the facts but withheld them, and John…for once he seemed to be on the level.

"Take me back to my brother." Dean needed to be with the one person he trusted. He didn't want to rely on Bob but right now there was no alternative.

A touch to his head and Dean was gone.

Blinking, Dean knew he was back in the future. Bob was holding him up. Holding him back.

Sam was in front of him. Legs sprawled in front of him, face slack, back propped against a bale of hay.

Dean broke into a run. This time no one was going to rip Sam away from him.

Except Sam was completely motionless. "Saaammy!"

-0-

The drama enfolding in front of Sam managed to do what the crazy time travel hadn't…caused Sam to pass out.

At least he thought that was what had happened as he blinked into the bright sunlight. His dad's face replaced the sky overhead. His lips moved but Sam couldn't hear him.

His mother made a deal with Azazel to bring his dad back from the dead. Sam was the thing the demon came for ten years after the deal was struck. Not to kidnap him or even kill him, but to put demon blood in his mouth. If only his mom hadn't come to the nursery.

Sam's lungs stuttered and he closed his eyes to block out the world.

He was the reason his mom had died.

It sounded selfish when he said it in his head but what else could he think?

Moisture rained down on his face and he thought that was odd. The sun had been shining just a moment ago.

Something salty slipped into the corner of his mouth and for a moment Sam thought it was blood. But no, it wasn't blood. More like saline.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he found his dad's face inches from his, peppered with tracks of moisture.

Sam reached up to touch his dad's face but his arm wouldn't work. Pain blossomed in his chest, a dull throb boiling outward to encompass his whole body. His back arched but no matter how he shifted, he couldn't escape the pain.

A voice called to him. A sweet soprano. Jessica. Or maybe his mother. The pain subsided to a bearable level.

Limbs filled with lead, Sam struggled to get to the voice. A heavy weight settled on his chest. He was back in Vietnam with his dad, his dad pushing him to safety. A far cry from the dad who had tried to kill him.

His breath caught, stuttered and died.

Dean would fix him. Dean always put him back together.

Someone flipped the switch again and the soft voice went away.

Fingers brushed the moisture from his face. Brushed over his eyelids.

His nostrils tickled at the smell of Old Spice. Dean wore Old Spice. So did his dad.

"Sam, come back. It's not your time."

This voice was different. Sam wondered if this was what the angels sounded like to Dean.

"Sam?"

No, this didn't sound like an angel. The voice was low and rough, maybe someone who smoked. Or someone who yelled a lot.

His dad liked to yell. At least he'd seemed to do nothing but bark orders and yell at Sam before he went to Stanford.

Something wet touched his upper lip and Sam's tongue tentatively swiped at it. Not tears this time, but it was still salty.

"That's it, Sam. Just a few more drops."

It wasn't Dean but it sure sounded like him. The same note of impatience his brother's voice got when Sam wasn't doing something the right way. Coaxing yet frustrated. Not a pleasant combination but it reminded Sam of home.

Sam's breathing eased and he wanted to open his eyes. See who was holding him close, keeping him warm and safe.

It took everything Sam had, but he managed to raise his eyelids to slits. His dad was holding him. Not John with flashing black eyes or the John who tried to throttle him. This was his real dad. Smiling down on him.

"Just close your eyes, Sammy. Rest."


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

It was a horrible feeling of déjà vu. Of being so close, and yet so far away. He'd watched Sam die in Cold Oak, watched the look of agony and defeat in his eyes when he sunk to the ground before his eyes shut that one last time.

And no matter how much Dean tried not to think about it, he could still feel his brother's limp body in his arms. Heavy and boneless.

Just like he looked now.

There was no way Dean could move fast enough, hindered by his own limitations.

But he had to get there. He couldn't be too late. He hadn't just gone on some wild goose chase through time to come back and find his little brother dead. He just _hadn't_.

He went to his knees, skidding to a stop on the floor of the barn. He ignored his father, standing somewhat to the side, his focus only on one thing: Sam.

His brother was pale, lying like a ragdoll against a hay bale, his long limbs fanned out and his neck extended back.

"He's okay, Dean," John said from above him.

But Dean wouldn't trust his father--not when he'd tried to abduct them both, and especially not with something as important to him as Sam.

Gently, Dean propped his brother's head up, supporting his neck. Desperately, he examined Sam's face, his fingers fluttering for the pulse on Sam's neck.

The action proved superfluous; Sam's eyes twitched before his eyelids flickered up and down rapidly as consciousness returned to him.

Sam's head rolled a bit, his arms moving and legs shifting. His face tensed up into a grimace, a small groan escaping from his parted lips. "Dean," he breathed.

Dean huffed a sigh of relief. "Thank _God_," he said.

John laughed bitterly. "Not quite."

Finally assured that his brother was alive, Dean shot his father a glare. "Nothing from you right now," he said shortly. This was still John's fault as far as Dean was concerned. He was the one who had planned this trip to the past--regardless of what they'd learned back there, it had clearly taken a toll on Sam. Sam didn't deserve that, and worse, Dean wasn't sure how much more his little brother had to give. Too many people were asking sacrifices from Sam without giving him anything in return. That just wasn't acceptable in Dean's big brother book of friggin' etiquette.

"I'm not the one who's been holding out on you," his father reminded him, his voice sharp.

At that, Dean stood, his patience all but used up. Staying close to Sam, he leveled his eyes at his father, face set. "So, what, you abducted Sam because you're father of the year all of a sudden?" he accused. He shook his head. "What if it had killed him, huh? What then?"

John didn't back down. He raised his chin in defiance. "I never would have let it get that far."

"That's crap and you know it," Dean snapped. "You dragged him all through time to fulfill whatever little mind trip you had planned. You saw what it was doing to him and you didn't care."

"The _message_ was more important than a little discomfort," John seethed.

Dean disbelief was evident. "A little discomfort? _Look_ at him."

His father's face was screwed up with anger, a retort on his lips, when another voice cut them off.

"Dean--just _stop_," Sam interrupted, his voice weak but insistent.

The pleading tone was one Dean recognized from his own years of being in the middle. Watching his family fight had been the hardest things he'd lived through as a teenager. He could take all the moving, always being the new kid, hunting down monsters on the weekends. But when Sam and Dad went at it--it just tore Dean up inside.

So this was what it felt like to be on the other side. To be so impassioned about something that he had to fight.

He didn't regret defending Sam, but the tone of Sam's voice made it impossible to ignore.

Feeling duly chagrined, Dean kneeled next to Sam. "You okay there, Sammy?"

Sam met his eyes tiredly, but his nod was resolute. "Just drained...or something," he said. "It's kind of weird."

Then, as if their little family reunion wasn't screwed up enough as it was, Bob's voice interjected. "That's probably because the demonic version of time travel relies far more on the black arts," he said pointedly. "The dark forces aren't quite as careful as the natural ones. Or were you going to just nicely omit those little details, John?"

Dean glanced up at him, watching as Bob neared. He stopped a few feet short, his keen gaze penetrated John's stiff stance.

His father was many things, but a coward wasn't among them. He didn't even flinch at the harsh tone of Bob's voice. "I'm not the one leaving out the important details, _Bob_."

The familiarity was more than a bit of a surprise. Helping Sam to his feet, Dean regarded the two warily. "You guys know each other?"

John was unfazed by the question. "We've crossed paths a time or two," he said with a cold shrug.

Sam wobbled in Dean's grip, but remained upright, leaning heavily on him for support. Dean kept his grip firm as he tried to ascertain just what the hell was going on.

Bob's mouth closed, lips pressed together thoughtfully for a moment. Then he returned the shrug, unrattled but clearly perturbed. "Yes, while breaking the seals, your dad has been getting quite a lot of mileage," he agreed. "Some contact has been...unavoidable. And oh-so-very _pleasant_."

John's laugh was bitter. "Oh, come on, _Bob_," he said. "Don't forget about all those _good _times. You know, like when you stood by and _did nothing_ while my wife made the deal that would take her life and destroy Sam's innocence. The way you just stood there when she died, when my innocent baby was _tainted_."

Bob's smile was harsh. "You mean the demon that you now work with?"

John's face hardened again. "Compromises sometimes have to be made to right certain wrongs."

Bob's face was as serious as Dean had ever seen it. "And you of all people should know that we all have our orders, John."

It was all still a bitter pill to swallow. He was still grappling with his father's alliance with Azazel, but now to learn that Bob had known all along what had happened to his family? Worse yet, that Bob had _been _there, that he could have _stopped _it, but _didn't_. Even now, the angel could reduce his mother's life and death to simple _orders_.

Shaking, Sam pushed himself a bit more upright. "Orders? What orders?" His voice was somewhere between anger and pain, mostly mired in confusion.

Dean knew how he felt. As if going back in time wasn't enough, the things they'd seen...the _truths_ they'd learned. There was a Hell of a lot more to the Winchester family tragedy than any of them had ever known.

Bob's face fell, and he looked sheepishly at his feet for a second. When he raised his head again, his well groomed features were regretful. "I would love to tell you, I _really_ would...." He gave a pained shrug. "But I can't. Not yet. It's still too dangerous, you have to trust me."

"Of course he can't tell you," John snapped. "Because no matter how many times he bops in and out to save you, he's still some pathetic angel lackey. You can't trust him--you have to see that now."

The compassion in Bob's face turned into vitriol. "Oh, and how that one smarts!" he exclaimed. "And really quite ironic coming from the little old demon who played turncoat and ran right into Azazel's waiting arms."

John did not waver. "I'm doing what I have to do to make things right."

Bob shook his head. "Oh, John. That's a pretty bad lie. Even for a demon. And trust me, I've heard my share of whoppers."

"That whole demons lie line? Not as true as everyone likes to believe," John said. "We tell the truth more often than not because we know that the truth hurts more than anything."

Dean reflexively tightened his grip on Sam. He remembered what Azazel had said to him that night in the cabin. The things John had told them in Wyoming and Ohio. That Dean needed his family more than they needed him; that Dean had to fall in line for his own sake, for Sam's. As much as he wanted to believe they weren't true, he'd always known they were. Every last word.

"So that's it, then?" Bob asked. "You're doing this to _hurt_ them?"

"No," John returned with vigor. "I'm doing it to save them."

Bob shook his head. "Oh, I don't know about that. Why would you chase them? Why almost kill them? Why throw your lot in with Azazel when you _know_ better than the rest of us just where this all is heading?"

"Where all of what is heading?" Sam broke in, asking the question Dean was too stunned to formulate. "Dad?" He looked at his father. When no answer came, he turned to the angel. "Bob?"

The question silenced them both for a moment.

Neither of them wanted to answer.

Which was just great. The endgame that involved him and Sam, and no one wanted to come clean about the details.

"It's a fair question, John," Bob said. "If you're so big on truth, why don't you tell them that?"

John looked down, something suspiciously like tears in his eyes. "You know why I can't," he said in a strangled voice. He looked up again, eyes burning with desperation. "This thing is bigger than me. It's bigger than both the boys. I'm picking the side I need to make sure that we _win_."

And there was something in that, something so quintessentially _Dad_, that it made Dean ache. His father had always operated on a need to know basis, but Dean had never doubted him, never had to. Even though he knew he should now, it was hard to question that tone.

"You're picking the side that leads to the end of the world," Bob said, his voice quiet, regretful, but firm. As serious as Dean had ever seen him.

John's face trembled. "The end of the world as ruled by _you_," he sneered.

Bob flinched, his normally easygoing demeanor slipping. "I could smite you where you stand," he said, rolling his shoulders a little. "I don't get to play with those powers very often these days, and I have to admit, I think it'd be kind of fun this time around."

Sam tensed next to him, almost moving forward, but Dean kept a grip on him.

John's laugh was bitter. "I'd like to see you try."

Bob made a step forward, certain and John didn't back down, straightening himself toward the angel.

Which was just great. As if it wasn't enough having angels in his head and having a father who was a demon, now they wanted to embark on some freaky-assed epic smackdown. But as far as Dean was concerned, it would have to wait. They'd wasted too much time here, too much time bopping through time, too much time having him and Sam thrown around like they didn't matter. For the two most important humans in the Apocalypse, they were being treated like glorified chess pieces.

He didn't need this. Sam didn't need this.

Stepping in front of Sam, he edged between the two. "Just stop it!" he growled. "Both of you."

Bob hesitated, and his father stayed still, but Dean could tell neither of them wanted to stop. They wanted to see where this fight would take them, and at this point, Dean wasn't even sure who he'd root for.

But he didn't want Sam to have to sit around and worry about the outcome either. Not after tonight.

Which meant that everyone else needed to get the hell away from them. No matter what their motives were, no matter what lies they were telling, if Dean was ever going to figure this mess out, he just needed to take Sam and run. Just the two of them.

Feeling stronger, Dean took another step forward, glancing between the two. "No one is smiting anyone and no one is working their freaky demon mojo," he said slowly, purposefully. "Right now, you're both going to leave us alone."

Bob let out a frustrated sigh. "Dean, we still have to talk about the seal," he protested. "You know, the Apocalypse? Or have you forgotten?"

Dean's gaze went to the wall. The scrawled sigils were still there. Black magic was right, but not demonic rituals. "Well, since _John_ here isn't off to break the seal any time soon, I think we've got some time. Or were you lying about that?" he asked with a pointed look at his dad.

"This was never about the seal," John confirmed.

"Not this time," Bob agreed. "But the seal will break. We must find its new location. This whole mess has already wasted enough of our time."

"Yeah, well, I don't think we ever asked for your advice," Sam cut in, stepping up next to Dean. There was a hard edge in his voice, sharper than Dean expected.

Bob picked up on it, too. His features froze for a moment.

Dean swallowed. Bob was right about one thing: the breaking of the seal still needed to be stopped. But not now. He wasn't sure he was ready to throw his hat in the ring with Bob, but he wasn't ready to cut ties altogether either. Not that he could anyway with the angel able to enter his head whenever he wanted.

Sighing, Dean closed his eyes for a moment, wishing there was an easy answer. But Dean just wasn't that lucky. Opening his eyes again, he gave Bob a weary look. "Check back with us in a week," he said, trying to remember the things the angel had done for them, trying not to think about what he'd just seen. "I mean, it's not like we're not still on board with this whole saving the world schtick. We've just...got to figure this out first. You know." He looked from Bob to his dad and back. "Who to trust."

Bob's face scrunched up. He clearly was not a fan of that idea, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. "This has always been your choice," he said. He chewed his lip for a moment. "One week. I'll give you a holler in your ear, or maybe just pop up."

"Yeah, great," Dean muttered flatly. "Have a nice flight."

Whether the angel heard him or not, Dean would never know, because with a brush of air, he was gone.

-o-

Sam couldn't help but be relieved when Bob was gone. He'd had his issues with the angel--that was really an understatement. After all, this so-called angel of the Lord had nearly driven his brother crazy. And the fact that Bob still seemed to hesitate around Sam, that gave the younger Winchester reasons to doubt.

Now?

Doubt didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

Bob had been there. Bob had been there for _everything_. From his father's death, to his mother's deal, to that fateful night in November 1983: Bob had been there and done _nothing_. He'd simply watched while their entire family _fell apart_.

What kind of being did that? How could someone be one of the good guys and just let so many horrible things happen?

He wanted to trust Bob, he really, really did. He was an angel, after all. The ones Sam had believed in. But had Bob ever really trusted him? They existed on this weird and delicate balance; Sam felt like he was needed and wanted, but never quite accepted the way Dean was.

Even weirder now that Sam knew that Bob had had the chance to keep Sam _pure_ and had merely chosen not to.

_We all have our orders_.

Sam had never been big into following orders. Now he was beginning to remember why.

Dean brushed his arm with his hand, a small reassuring gesture, before turning to their father. "I meant you, too, Dad," he said. "Adios time. Hit the road or whatever it is you demons do."

His father's face was pleading. "Boys, please," he said. "We still need to talk about all this."

Sam's heart lurched. They did need to talk--about a lot of things. About how happy John had been with Mary. About how beautiful and innocent they'd been together. About how they'd all been backed into a trap by demons and angels alike.

Sam had always felt like the odd man out in his family, but having this experience with his father, seeing what his father's life had once been, the man John had started off as--it changed everything. Changed all his preconceptions and made sense of so many hurts in his life. He couldn't let that go, not yet. "Dean, maybe--"

But Dean was not in the mood for negotiation. His brother was past his point of no return. For as hard as this had been on Sam, it had been just as hard for Dean. "No maybes," Dean said sharply. "I just--" He broke off, shaking his head with a bitter and pained look at Sam. "I can't make sense of it all. One minute, he's acting like good old dad and the next he's back to the black eyed freak."

Sam cringed. It was a hard contradiction to understand.

Dean turned his eyes to his father. "I mean, come on. Do you want us dead or do you want us alive? Make up your mind already so I can have my daddy issues on the right track."

The look on their father's face was real hurt. And then, Sam could see it. He could still see traces of the man his father had been. The man who he might still be, somewhere in that mess.

"Everything I've done," John began, his voice thick and scratchy. "I've done for you. Both of you."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, his own voice hollow. "Then what was up with almost killing Sam? Chasing us down? Because I'm getting some pretty mixed messages here."

Then Sam got it. That one weird stop in the journey, back to Vietnam. He stepped forward, looking keenly at his father. "Sometimes you have to know the big picture," he said suddenly, pulling the lesson as if from a dream. He moved another step away from Dean, closer to his father. "Sometimes the orders don't make sense until you see the big picture."

Behind him, Dean stiffened, stepping forward, closing the gap between himself and Sam. "Normally I'd be all about playing the good little soldier, but all of that goes out the window. My dad would never do that--_ever_. There are some things we've sacrificed but we've always protected each other."

"I wasn't trying to kill him," John said. "Can't you see that? I'm trying to save you both."

Dean flinched a little. "Is that why you saved us from Alastair?"

John turned his eyes to the ground. "Alastair was out of line," he said, voice rough like gravel. His steely gaze turned to them once again. "If I had known sooner, I never would have let that happen. But demons aren't omniscient. We have limitations. And the forces at play here--you can't even _begin_ to imagine. I didn't have any idea until it was all too late. This has all been set up way before either of you were even in the picture. The angels, demons--they're going to move you around until you're like pawns on a chessboard to get what they want."

It kept coming back to that analogy. A cosmic game of chess. White pieces and black pieces, and pawns that were moved around on a whim, easily taken by either side. Sam never liked to think of himself as helpless, but the last few months had taught him otherwise.

Dean stood even with Sam now, a bitter smile on his face. "Great. So how do we get to freakin' checkmate?"

John's eyes were earnest. "It's in you. Both of you," he said readily. "It always has been. Sam, you know how to stay strong, how to keep at it until the end. Dean, you know how to save your brother, no matter what. Those are the things you're going to need for this fight."

Just when it was starting to make sense, the questions kept coming back. Sam shook his head. "What fight? With the angels? With Azazel?"

John's expression hardened, a flicker of fear in his eyes as they flashed black just for a moment. "I can't say any more," he said. "This is as much of a risk as I can take."

It wasn't an answer Sam had been prepared for, and it was one that Dean did not take well. "Well, maybe you should have thought of that _before_ trying to abduct us," Dean said crossly.

"There are some orders I can't disobey, Dean," John replied.

"But, Dad, the big picture," Sam said, almost begging.

John kept his face firm. "You know what you need to know now."

Sam shook his head. "I don't understand."

John backed up a step, until his back was against the wall. "Just remember, you don't always have all the information," he said, rushed. "If you don't have all the information, you can't make the _right _decision. Know your stuff first. Always. I've taught you that. You need to understand that the things I do may not make sense, but they're for all of us. I _promise_. I may lie about a lot of things, but not about that."

"So you're just going to bail again?" Sam asked, and he felt desperate. To go through what he just went through, to see his parents' lives and deaths rise and fall, to _live_ his own history and understand how it came to be--it had to be dealt with. It bonded him to his father in a new way, bonded them together more definitively. The Winchester Family Business meant something more now, something that Sam was inherently a part of, for better and for worse.

And for the first time, Sam was desperate to get in on the secret. He'd spent his life trying to run away, and now that he was ready with open, begging arms, he was going to be denied.

With steady eyes, John kept himself even and calm. Not cruel, just sure of himself. Just like his father always had; steadfast under pressure, even until the very end. "Remember to trust each other, boys. Above all else, trust each other."

There were a million questions to ask, but before Sam could ask any, before he could do _anything_, their father raised his hand, smearing blood along the wall. The barn shook, a boom resounding and a whirlwind of air whipping up the hay strew floor.

When it settled, Dean had a hand on his arm once again, steadying him as they both stared at the place where their father had just been.

Now it was just him and Dean, the way it always seemed to be. Brothers, together, but always somehow alone again.

-o-

It was nice to have some constants in life. With the changing elements in Dean's life, it made him cling to what stayed the same all the more.

Sam, for starters. No matter how pissed off that kid could make him, no matter how much Sam could freak him out, Sam was everything he had left. The only thing really worth fighting for.

But even he and Sam together needed more than that. Some way to come back to earth, to make sense of the crap thrown their way.

Too bad they only had one real Winchester cure-all.

Driving.

Always driving. Pushing the pedal to the floor and going, going, _going, _but never getting anywhere.

It seemed to be the story of their lives. For as much as they fought and rallied, for as much as they worked and defied, in the end they really never had much say in things, not things that mattered.

Dean glanced at Sam. His brother was sitting rigidly in the seat. They hadn't really said much to each other after their dad and Bob had taken off. What was there to say? _Hey, remember that time we time traveled to see Mom make a deal? _Or _remember when Dad tried to kill us and then save us and then kidnap us_? Or how about, Dean's favorite_ you think we should call back the angel who did nothing while our lives were ruined_?

Or not.

But still. He had to say _something_. If all he had left was being a big brother, then it was about time he started acting like a big brother.

Clearing his throat, Dean shifted in his seat, switching hands on the wheel. He gave Sam another look before licking his lips. "So," he said. "How are you feeling? Not still woozy or anything?"

Sam kept his eyes trained ahead. "Better," he said absently, with a far off lilt in his voice.

So much for that stellar conversation starter. But the big brother in Dean would not be deterred. Even if Sam didn't want to, the kid needed to talk. Hell, they both did, and Dean wasn't stupid enough to think they could get away from this without it.

After a pause to rally his courage, Dean tried again. "You sure?"

Sam shrugged. "Tired. A little achy." Then he looked at Dean, pulling the classic little brother avoidance technique. "You?"

Dean grimaced. Asking questions was hard enough; answering them was something he still wasn't totally up to. But for Sam...well, he'd do anything for Sam. He made a sound in the back of his throat. "Apparently the angel express is a bit less bumpy," he said.

Sam nodded at that, gaze back to the road.

Silence lapsed between them, filled with the sound of the tires on the pavement and the steady hum of the engine.

Then Sam asked, "Do you think Dad was telling the truth?"

The question caught Dean off guard. "About what?"

Sam shrugged. "About doing all of this for us."

The million dollar question; he really should have known. After all, wasn't that one he kept coming back to? Could they really trust their dad? Or was it a trick? A really convincing, well done trick put on by a demon to get them right where he wanted them?

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sam," he said, shaking his head. "He's a demon. He tried to kill you. Both of us."

Sam's answer was immediate. "But he didn't."

"He almost got you killed again tonight."

"But he wanted to show me something," Sam said. "I mean, the things he showed me, the moments--Dad was so _human_."

Dean remembered, not just from tonight, but from his own childhood. The man his father had once been, the loving father who doted on his sons. "Yeah, because he _was_ human back then," Dean ground out.

Sam shook his head. "No, I mean, _now_," he said. "Didn't you see it? The look on his face when he saw mom as she was back then--it was just...amazing. He still loved her. Completely and totally."

Dean locked his jaw. The sight of his mother had been something--she looked just like he remembered, only more beautiful. More perfect.

He missed her. So much.

Swallowing, Dean said tightly. "Seeing Mom would do that to anyone."

"Maybe," Sam said absently. He took a deep breath. "But if he wanted us dead, he would have done it by now."

There was some logic to that, but not enough. "You know just as well as I do that there's an endgame in place. Bob's big secret. John's orders--for all his talk of the big picture, he was still leaving out a lot of the details. For all we know, Dad could be setting us up."

"Or trying to save us," Sam countered.

And there was the rub. Dean had to be honest--he didn't know. He had thought he knew, that even if his father had saved them once, even if there was some good in the old man--he couldn't be trusted. He had it in the back of his mind to save his father, not follow his orders again. The distinction was important, and Bob had been his best ticket to that.

Until tonight. "I'll tell you what I did believe," Dean said finally.

Sam looked expectant.

"He told us that we have to trust ourselves. You and me, Sammy. No one else. Not Bob, not Dad. I mean, in all this crap, you're the one person I know I can count on. No matter what."

Sam shied away from that, looking at his hands.

It was a look of despair and self doubt Dean recognized too clearly. "Demon blood and demon resurrection and all," he assured Sam.

Sam looked up, almost surprised.

Dean held his gaze for a long second. "And the thing _you _can trust is that I will always have your back. No matter what crap they throw at us."

Sam nodded, looking down again. Then he looked up, smiling a little. "You think so, huh?"

Dean scoffed. "I _know_ so."

Sam laughed a little. "Well, then who am I to refute that?"

"Exactly," Dean said. "And don't you forget it. Now, if you don't mind, some music will make the time go faster...."

Sam snickered in the back of his throat, sighing again, this time almost contentedly. "I could really use some sleep anyway," he said. "So not too loud, okay?"

"Picky, picky," Dean sniped.

"You rather hang out with Bob who wouldn't shut up the entire drive?" Sam asked, settling back against the seat.

"Ugh, hell, no," he said. "You know we still have to figure out what we're going to tell him."

"I know," Sam said, his eyes shutting. "But not tonight."

Dean nodded at that, watching as his brother snuffled again, trying to find a comfortable position. "Yeah," he agreed. "Not tonight."

Sam didn't reply, didn't need to, and Dean turned on the radio, letting it play softly as Sam drifted into sleep and the car slipped deeper into the night.


End file.
